


Meraad Astaarit

by AndAllForAPrettyFace



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 18:56:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4111492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndAllForAPrettyFace/pseuds/AndAllForAPrettyFace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Response to DAKink prompt:<br/>The Ben-Hassrath task Iron Bull with making the Herald of Andraste a puppet of the Qun by whatever means necessary. He decides to use the guise of a consensual D/s relationship to break her down psychologically, until he's the one pulling all of her strings.</p><p>Warnings for general mind-fuckery, for-realsies dub-con, and deliberate failure to respect permission protocols in a D/s relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meraad Astaarit

**Author's Note:**

> (Just transferring over to AO3 - hello, AO3! Will be gradually archiving my DAKink work from the last couple years, which I expect to be a fun and filthy romp down memory lane...)

“Boss,” he rumbled, quiet but undeniable. “Boss, open your eyes.”

Tear-stained witch-hazel green irises slowly blinked into compliance.

“I’m sorry, Boss. You said you wanted it. You didn’t tell me to stop. I thought—“

He let it hang in the air between them, almost-- _almost_ \-- reproachful. He had to be careful.

In honesty, he hadn’t been entirely ready either; he’d expected to have to work on her for another month or more before she allowed him into her bedroom. But he’d done what needed to be done for their first encounter, the first step that he’d outlined for himself. _Frighten her a little. Shake her up. Make her doubt._

“I—I know,” she murmured, averting her eyes. “It was good. It just—it—“

She didn’t go on, and she didn’t have to. Hissrad, with his years of experience, training, natural skill knew, had been planning on all of that subtext. She was no blushing virgin, but it had certainly been many years since she had welcomed anyone to share her bed; and even then, it had been tainted with the guilt of a good noble girl forcing herself to bend the rules of propriety, knowing that she would never be fully in her parents’ good graces anyway, that virtue was a virtue she would never be able to cultivate. In her Circle, she had been a well-behaved creature, only bending to impropriety under extremity. In her Inquisition, she was measured and considered, aloof. He knew that her distance was something that occasionally put her at odds with those around her. He was counting on her being a little bit alone.

“It was good,” she tried again, her voice breaking a little.

“Shh. Come here, just let it out.” He held her silently while she shook.

He’d taken her like a dog taking a bitch, spanking her ass and marring her pale flesh with nips and bruises. He’d held her down helpless while he teased her slit until she was wet and begging. He’d gotten really creative with how he could position her on that useless little writing desk in the corner of the room. He’d made her come so many times and left her ass so black and blue that she probably couldn’t feel her legs. She certainly wouldn’t be able to ride her pretty chestnut tomorrow.

He could have gone much further. All things considered, given his lack of preparation, this was a charitable but effective beginning.

She was babbling quietly, now, agonizing over whether this had been the right thing to do, as the Inquisitor, as a good mage, as a woman. It was a bit tedious, really. He held her, stroked her back. When he really got tired over her blathering, he gently snuck two thick fingers down to play into the mess of her cunt.

Oh yeah, that worked.

“Boss,” he rumbled quietly. “You have enough to worry about out there – in the war room, in the field, on your throne. You don’t need to worry about being right in here. Is this what you want?”

He flicked her swollen clit, just let his callused skin graze past. The Inquisitor bit back a sob and was entirely unsuccessful in concealing the need in her voice. “Maker—Bull—yes, oh—”

“You sure?” He ground his fingers into her again, a little more firmly.

“Aah—yes, please—Bull—” Her witch-green eyes were clenched shut again.

“You’ll let me help you? Help you let go of all that? It means you won’t be able to call the shots, but I think you need that, Boss. You need to stop calling the shots for a little, just for a few hours, now and then. Is that what you want?”

She couldn’t answer. He wasn’t sure if she was paralyzed by the idea or mute in her arousal.

Hissrad bent his great head down to her chest and slowly licked up the skin of her breast, stiffening one pink nipple into a rigid peak. Teeth grazed tender flesh. He caught her clit between his two fingers.

Inquisitor Trevelyan, good noble girl, dutiful mage, cool pillar of virtue moaned as desperate tears spilled over her pale cheeks. “Yes! Yes, Bull, yes—yes—please, yes, please—help me, please, yes—”

All he needed to hear. Hissrad tongued her porcelain pale tit and played between her legs and sent her back over the edge, weeping and panting and riding his hand. She shuddered at the sudden absence when he pulled his hand away. She fell asleep wrapped around one muscular arm, tears drying on his shoulder.

That was phase one completed.

***

Hissrad would have been a poor agent of the Ben-Hassrath if he couldn’t adapt to change and roll with the opportunities he was given. This was one.

 _I hate the way I sound,_ she’d murmured in embarrassment. _I hate that I’m so loud, when you make me come._

It’s like she was just feeding him an excuse.

He saw her eyes go wide, just a little, when he pulled out the gag a few days later. “Your choice,” he told her gently. “I won’t put it on you if you don’t like it. But it would help with your concern about noise.”

She wasn’t convinced. That was fine.

That night, Hissrad tied her spread-eagled to the bed-posts, stretched her lovely long limbs to their fullest. He could see her tremble in anticipation, waiting for the whip, or an open palm, or something similar, another edge to mingle her pleasure with pain. In some ways, he suspected she preferred that. She still felt guilty in all of this; the punishment of pain allowed her balance with the enjoyment. She trembled at the sight of the whip he’d bring, in fear and desire.

Hissrad put such things aside for the time being. Instead, he got down between her legs, pressed her thighs apart, and tongued her open, lapping at her hot, wet core.

“Bull—what are you— _nngh_ …”

Oh, this was new. This, she’d never had. Excellent.

He growled between her thighs, hungry as a predator, and he felt her quake in helpless reply as his pace quickened.

“Maker—! _Bull!_ ”

Tongue and finger plyed her open, made her scream herself hoarse again and again, thighs quaking against his ears. He was rather proud, really; he brought her off in such quick succession that she legitimately passed out, little moaning sighs in her sleep. Her long limbs looked great like that, limp and helpless after an ecstatic struggle, just lying where they fell. It really was kind of a pity he had to break her; he could have taught her, and she might have learned.

When he’d grown bored and hard watching her like that, he mounted her, where his talented tongue had left her primed and ready for more. She was stretched wide and soaking wet, and it was a prolonged wail she let out when he made her come again, hammering into her and spitting out low curses in qunlat as he came in her. He knew she liked the sound of his voice, even as she hated her own.

He held back on laughing at her for being so vocal and hoarse, but he made sure that she could see him holding back.

The next time he offered the gag, she took it readily. Hells, she even thanked him for it, wearing that foolish, doe-eyed smile.

***

It was a bit useless, letting her struggle and try to run, Hissrad reflected with his knee lightly—lightly— in her back. “ _Saarebas_ ,” he growled. He felt her tremble and moan in ways that had nothing to do with the probable bruises that she’d sustained as he’d wrestled her pretty naked flesh to the stone floor. “Yield.”

Basra lips formed the words with as much effort as she had left. _Anaan esaam Qun._

“Damn straight it is.” He hauled her upright, facing the wall. Her two wrists fit easily in his one hand. His other hand felt harshly along the lines of her body. “Have to check you, wicked little _Saarebas_. You’ve been out of my care too long, haven’t you? No saying what you could have picked up.”

Lightning tingled between her fingertips as she moaned, and Hissrad couldn’t help but laugh. What a little minx – playing along with the scenario? Oh, if he didn’t have to break her, the things he could have done…

He ground her against the wall, and she yelped in surprise. “ _Parshaara_ , wicked creature. You think you can catch me up that easily?” One hand lifted her at the waist, propped up on the wall; the other hand cupped her throat and felt her gasp through paper-thin flesh. He could feel her racing pulse and struggling air as he applied just a hair of pressure, just enough to make her breath doubt its path. There was no doubt in his path.

“There isn’t a demon hiding behind your eyes, is there, _Saarebas_? Do I have to drive it out of you?”

The Inquisitor wheezed, mild panic in her eyes; she’d never experimented with breath-play, apparently. If this were the relationship he was pretending it was, he would have asked first, of course, but it wasn’t, so he hadn’t. “ _Arvaarad_ ,” she whimpered. “I submit—I submit to the will of the Qun—”

“Bullshit. Telling me what I want to hear, _Saarebas_. Demon.” He released her. “On all fours with you, my charge. Go on, get down.”

She scrambled down to the floor, eager to obey, eager to be filled. She was well broken-in by now and opened her mouth to accept the gag. Hissrad marveled at her, willingly presenting herself to him, where less than two months ago, she would have blushed and stammered and made him do everything.

Well, still. Couldn’t have her getting complacent. He was on a schedule.

She flinched at the warming oil, dripping down her back, cocked her head at the sound of him slicking his member so that it would make the path smoother, but this was clearly something else she’d never done, and she had no conception or preparation as he fingered the tight pucker of her arse. He could make it out through the gag, more or less. _Bull—Arvaarad—what_

“There’s a demon in you, _Saarebas_. A demon of lust and foul desires. I’m charged to drive it out.”

The lurching sound she made as he penetrated her was almost comical, like a perverse hiccup. He could hear two sounds through the gag, sounds that might have been words. _No_ was one. The other might have been _Katoh_ , although he couldn’t be sure. He’d really, really hoped she wouldn’t find the nerve to say it; of everything he was doing and going to do to her, somehow, he felt guiltiest about denying her the safety of respecting the watchword.

He pretended not to hear, grunting and growling loudly as he fucked her ass hard and fast. “That’s right, _Saarebas vashedan_. You fucking submit. Victory in the Qun. Submit.”

She whined, a wordless babble as he reached a rough, staccato climax, his seed spilling out of her. Her elbows shook with the effort of holding herself up. “Did I do it alright?” she asked quietly, after he helped her back to bed and removed the gag.

“Yeah. Not bad at all.” He gave her ass an affectionate pat before rolling over to sleep. He could feel her pain and need for release permeating like sunlight, and he ignored that, too.

***

As of yet, she was still the boss outside her bedroom. As of yet.

His feelings on sparing the Chargers were… beyond mixed.

A reply made its way to him quickly. _“Message received. Loss of dreadnaught significant. If it buys us ownership of the bas, acceptable. We will be watching. Anaan essam Qun.”_

Other things were simpler. His purported exile gave him a good excuse to put some distance between himself and the Inquisitor. She was respectful, proper, more than willing to give him time to recover himself. At first.

The red-haired kitchen girl was doubly useful. First, she was visible enough that the Inquisitor would undoubtedly hear about the way he got drunk and pulled her into his lap, giggling and helpless, about the way he took her upstairs and made her squeal. Second, she was _hot_. Despite the Inquisitor’s progress along the trajectory he’d mapped out, Hissrad just really needed some variety. The kitchen girl was big-busted, cheerful, warm, wicked to the core. Yeah, this was what he needed.

Two nights with the kitchen girl was all it took for word to get back to the Inquisitor. He returned to her bed, of course—had a schedule to keep to—but it worked nicely, you could see. The doubt. The confusion. The realization that he wasn’t just _hers_.

He kept her busy for a little, trussing her up and spanking her flat little ass and making her beg, but the romance had gone out of it.

Another hiatus. He cornered one of the young men who ran messages across the grounds, a comely blonde with a storybook chiseled jaw and baby blue eyes. He was called Colm, and he was a virgin, and Hissrad taught him how to suck cock with the best of them. Surprisingly, it was actually Colm who broke it off, looking for something else, but hey, that was okay. Sera was already spewing rumors about walking in on the Iron Bull getting sucked off by some pretty teen boy. Another fracture in the Inquisitor’s armor.

She was more desperate, when he returned to her. She reminded him of a kitten or a small child, demanding attention and affection. She wanted to be his only. She wanted him to conquer her and keep her. “Arvaarad,” she moaned as he stroked her ass. “Please.”

“Shh. Let’s just sleep tonight, Boss. Been a long day.”

“But I want to.”

“You’re more tired than you know. Come on, now.”

She crawled up him—leader of the Inquisition, noble-born and aloof, feared and respected throughout the realm—she _begged_ him for a touch. “Arvaarad. My Arvaarad. Please.”

“Wanton little thing,” Hissrad murmured.

He slipped the gag over her mouth and fell asleep stroking her breasts and feeling her moans. 

***

In the small hours of the morning, he woke her with more of the same. Through the gag, he could hear her begging for more.

“You don’t play with yourself ever, do you?” he noted with a chuckle. “Go on. Touch yourself, _Saarebas_. Shameful one. Dangerous thing. That wasn’t a suggestion,” he added, seeing her hesitate.

Hissrad watched her go at it slowly. All this time and still such a little prude. He’d given her so much help, and it was still taking her forever to get going.

“You’re not happy unless you’re corrupting another, are you?” he growled, watching her start to relax into the rhythm.

She shook her head in muffled agreement.

“Faster,” he told her, watching her fingers slip awkwardly into her cunt.

She nodded.

“Too bad, foul thing. You won’t take me. Won’t let you. You won’t sway me from my duty, oh no. Faster.”

Inquisitor Trevelyan whined, begging through the gag.

The begging never got old, never failed to get him hard. “Oh yeah, wicked little _Saarebas_. Faster. Come for me.”

She was trying. She really was. She was too tired to be doing this properly. A muffled _please_ eked out of the gag.

His patience gave out. He needed release. Hissrad filled her, penetrated her, and just the pressure of his massive cock in her aching cunt sent her over the edge, wailing and moaning.

Hissrad hiked her knees out wide, hooked his big forearms under her elbows. She’d be sore from this. He thrust in her slowly, making it last. “ _Saarebas vashedan_. Fucking hell, you’re a needy little slut. You apologize for being so bloody difficult, will you?”

The Inquisitor nodded frantically, desperate to please, muffled pleas and muffled tears. He pulled out, spun her over onto her stomach, ass pressed high in the air, slid cock back into cunt. “You thank me, _Saarebas_. Thank me for the honor of receiving my discipline and my seed.” And she did, oh she did.

Hissrad groaned as he found his bliss. He let her hips go, a hand on each of her hands, and he covered her with his entire body, thrusting in faster, building to a peak, and oh, how she pressed up against him, begging and moaning so prettily through her gag. He could feel her, radiating eagerness to please, like a fire emanating smoke or heat.

“Fuck—yes, little _Saarebas_ , yes— _unngh_ –”

He spat out a name as he filled her. He bit it off enough to give doubt, but he made sure it wasn’t hers. Whether it belonged to Colm or the kitchen girl, he didn’t remember after.

***

Vivienne had commented on the road, earlier that week, nothing that the Inquisitor was looking tired and drawn of late. “I’m glad you’re able to bring her a little pleasure, dear Bull,” she told Hissrad. “So little does, these days.”

He knew he had to play it careful with Madame de Fer. She was one who could see through his game, if she knew to look. That was half of why he played the submissive to her.

That night, he let the Inquisitor start out in familiar territory – her Arvaarad had come to hunt her down and return her to the Qun. He bound her, hands above her head, floating on tiptoe. Told her to resist a little, and she did. Cursed at her, whipped her. Ate her out, because it was going to get nasty later, and he wanted to build her up, make her think she was happy. She came with her weight on her wrists, legs crossed behind Hissrad’s thick neck; after she came down from the high of orgasm, he kept her there, blowing softly on her sensitive clit, humming-growl in her thighs. She whined for more. Such a whiner.

Hissrad rode her on her ropes, alternating between taking her weight and letting her hang. She came again easily, shouting in his ear. Hissrad felt a tightening in his gut, could have made it last longer, but he’d get hard again. He spent in her, driving cock lifting her up, making her fly. When he untied her, she sank against him, caressing him like he was the tenderest of lovers.

Now, more.

She truly balked at the sight of the collar. It wasn’t a little leather thing like they’d played with sometimes – this was a proper piece of work, with rings for chains studded in it, with a high neck ridge to block her mouth. This had weight of metal. This had potency. This was a _Saarebas_ collar.

She didn’t say the word. She didn’t tell him to stop. But it was paralyzing doubt.

He unbound the gag. “You don’t trust me?” His voice was dangerously low. He was civil enough, but he knew that she knew it was a threat.

“I do—” she insisted, looking away. “It just—it’s very—“

“That sounds like a lie, boss. Guess you need to be calling the shots after all, huh? Inquisitor back on duty?” He tossed a little salute.

“Maker, no—” she bit out. “It just—it isn’t necessary, is it?”

“Yeah, of course not,” Hissrad amiably agreed, in a tone that meant _of course it is, you little idiot. Spend the hard earned money that you pay me on a nice Saarebas collar for you and you reject my gift? I’m hurt, boss, hurt._ It was a complicated tone.

Inquisitor Trevelyan bit her lip. Trembling, she lifted her head, bared her neck. “We could… I suppose… well, if you’re sure… I just won’t be able to—to—”

“Oh, you have no idea. Come here.”

He teased her breasts as he clasped it on her. He stepped back to marvel at her, stripped down, naked save for the collar, afraid but too proud to protest.

He walked to the door and opened it. Cool breeze spilled in from the corridor outside her chambers. “With me, _Saarebas_.”

The Inquisitor goggled at him unattractively. “Bull…?”

He fastened the leash to her collar as he came back toward her. He pulled. “ _Arvaarad,_ ” he corrected. “And it wasn’t a request.”

***

It was ass o’clock, and most of the keep was sleeping off a big party that Sera had been leading in the inn until an hour or two ago, but Trevelyan didn’t know that, because she didn’t understand how to be sociable with her own men, and so ever shadow, every rustling mouse, every imagined movement made her shrink back and cover herself. Cool night air bred gooseflesh on her naked skin.

“Bull, please,” she whispered.

“You didn’t trust me,” he said gently. “Have to show you that I’m trustworthy, won’t I? But I can’t do that if you don’t do exactly as I tell you.”

“Bull…”

A tug on the lead silenced her. She stumbled after him, clumsy feet smacking loudly against the floor.

At his suggestion, she’d opted for a Qunari-style bench in her throne room, even though it was a little too big for her. Even with her long legs, she sat awkwardly on its height, legs dangling a little.

Not now. Now, she whined out in protest as he wrested her to bend over it. “No, no, we can’t—someone will see, Bull—”

“ _Saarebas_ ,” he growled quietly, “be still.”

His hand clapping down hard on her ass echoed in the empty hall. The Inquisitor flinched, more from the sound than the impact. “No, no, no—Arvaarad, please, not here—we can’t—”

His fingers knew the cartography of her sex easily, by now. Silencing her with a stroke was so, so easy. “Have to fuck the insubordination out of you, won’t I?”

She writhed against the fine timber of the bench. He heard her mumbling something. “You trying to cast something on me, wicked one?”

She shook her head. Her voice was smaller than that of a mouse. “Gag me. Please.”

Hissrad laughed; hadn’t been expecting that. “Too bad, _Saarebas_ – I left it in the room. You’ll have to keep quiet on your own. Show some control, and I won’t have to cut you down for running away from the _Antaam_.”

He slid under, trusting her not to rise, and she did not. He moved his head under her, grabbed her waist and started tonguing her fiercely again, until her arousal was dripping down his chin.

Eyelids fluttered closed; dry lips pressed together, a desperate little hum of a whine. Hissrad slid the head of his cock all along the line of her ass, down to her cunt, and back up again to the small of her back. He knew she hated anal and was too embarrassed to say the words. Still, he went for the cunt. He wanted to make her cry out in shameful joy.

And she did. Oh, she did.

“Do you submit?” he growled, hammering into her, stretching her wide.

She nodded helplessly. “Maker, yes,” she whispered.

“ _Anaan essam Qun._ ”

“ _Anaan essam Qun._ Yes.”

“Good girl. Come for me. Let me hear you.”

“No,” she whined, begged, like was torturing her and not pleasuring the fuck out of her. “No, no, no, no, please, Arvaarad, please, no, please, not here…”

“Yes, here.” He caught her by the collar, left her gasping for air as she gasped in her ecstasy. “I’m going to speak a word. _Katara_. I’m going to stroke the back of your wrist. And when I do that, you are going to come so hard you can’t fucking see anymore, otherwise I’ll know you’re untrue, _Saarebas_ , I’ll know you for what you are.”

The watchword was on her lips. He could see it lingering there, and he wouldn’t be able to pretend that he couldn’t hear her now…

Footsteps. Footsteps in the gallery above silenced her. Hissrad’s ears were better than hers right now; he knew it was just Vivienne at her books, easily far away, but the Inquisitor didn’t know that, and right now, that fear took all the resistance out of her, stole all of her resolve to fight back, stole all of her everything.

In silence, Hissrad ground in against the Inquisitor, sank himself into her sex entirely. He thrust in hard, and again, and still again, and he squeezed a thumb against her wrist. “ _Katara_ ,” he rumbled in her ear, and she choked out a wounded, ecstatic cry that echoed through the throne room, reverberated back to them until she fell still over the bench, defeated, quaking with little aftershocks as his issue filled her, spilled down her thighs and onto the floor.

She was mute in his arms as he carried her back to the room, easily before anyone came to investigate the noise. Again, not that she knew that. She was compliant as any good Saarebas.

***

It turned out to be a good trick for them. Not the screwing out in the open – he wasn’t going to try that again unless he really needed to – but the thick thumb along her skinny wrist, and the rumbling bass in her ear, and _Katara_. If she was sufficiently wound up, he didn’t even have to touch her sex.

“Bathtub’s too clean; let’s fix that,” it might begin. And “ _Katara,_ ” it would end, with her splashing and riding him down.

“Play with yourself while you suck me off, _Saarebas,_ ” it might begin. And “ _Katara,_ ” it would end, with her moaning like a whore as he spilled on her face.

“Let me see that pretty little ass of yours,” it might begin. And “ _Katara,_ ” it would end, with her climaxing in spite of herself, in spite of the discomfort as he bruised her and filled her.

Sometimes he’d get her in her sleep. She hated that, secretly, because she couldn’t fight back, couldn’t even mentally prepare. “ _Katara,_ ” he would whisper, massaging her hips, her thighs, her calves, stroking her wrist, and she would jerk into motion, no safety of the gag to be found, just helpless howling as orgasm washed through her. He knew that others in the party would tease her for those nights – he knew she found it humiliating.

He’d been winding her up for a quickie in the war room – not that he expected her to submit, but it was good to keep her on edge, and it was so damned easy to get her riled up – he could smell her dripping sex through decorous layers of clothing – 

Well, it didn’t matter. Her trio of advisors interrupted the moment, and that was that. 

Although the way the conversation went—

A disagreement, in regards to a delegation of Tal-Vashoth—not the Tal-Vashothiest of them, Hissrad would be the first to admit, but even so—the mood in the room was one way, and the demands of the Qun were in the other direction.

He knew it. And with that crafty mind of hers, so did she. She knew what he wanted.

Her hands were clenched behind her back to hide their shaking and wringing. Hissrad slid in behind her, a good boyfriend showing his support for her troubled self. Deliberately, he took her hand. Deliberately, his thumb stroked a slow swipe down the back of her wrist.

The word was on his lips. She saw it.

“Bull,” she said tiredly, “you’ll be better equipped to handle this matter than I will. What do you think?” 

Good girl.

He sent a short missive to his handlers the next day. _The bas belongs to us. Anaan essam Qun._

After, he allowed himself the luxury of a quick screw in the wine cellars with the red-head from the kitchen. She was soft and warm and oh so creative. And Hissrad was certain he had earned it.


End file.
